


Farewell, My King

by HallsofStone2941



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Thorin Lives, Angst, As do Fili & Kili, Based on something Graham said at hobbitcon, Gen, Non-Canonical Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 17:04:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3700199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HallsofStone2941/pseuds/HallsofStone2941
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dwalin stops Azog before he kills Thorin.</p>
<p>Based on <a href="http://hallsofstone2941.tumblr.com/post/115687815106/oakenbaggins-graham-just-said-that-if-dwalin">this post</a>. I'm dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Farewell, My King

**Author's Note:**

> [murmuredlullabye](http://murmuredlullabye.tumblr.com) challenged me to up my angst. Bad idea.
> 
> Also trying my hand at past tense writing, which is, for some reason, very hard for me. I haven't really edited this, so let me know if there are spelling/grammar errors.

This was it, Thorin could feel it. The ice was cold against his back, the chainmail unforgiving and hateful. Azog's blade pressed down, relentless, unforgiving, and there was nothing he could do. His strength was slipping, the locked swords inching closer and closer to his chest. It was only a matter of time until the sting of the Orc's weapon would come, Azog would triumph, and he would be no more.  
  
Unless.  
  
Unless he could take advantage of that closed distance. Unless he could turn around and give Azog back as good as he gave. Oh, he wouldn't survive, Thorin knows this. But neither would the Pale Orc, and, well, isn't that how it's supposed to end? In blood?  
  
He was about to release his sword, to remove the final barrier keeping him alive. A split second, fingers already loosening.  
  
A roar, Azog's head turned up, distracted by the noise. A flash of rich brown barreling into pale skin, the weight of the Orc suddenly gone, Orcrist jumping in the air with the release of pressure. Thorin sat up, taking in the sight of -  
  
Dwalin. Of course. His cousin battled with the Pale Orc, swinging his weapon with vicious strokes, knocking each of Azog's strikes aside. They grappled for power, two figures stark against the grey sky, dancing closer and closer to the edge of the Falls. Azog was losing, Thorin could see that; Dwalin's blows were coming swift and merciless, backing the hunter of Durin's line closer and closer, another push and he would fall.  
  
Dwalin stumbled as if stunned, and Thorin's heart clenched for one agonizing moment. But then the warrior's boot came up, and Azog was hurtled off the ice, disappearing over the ledge with wails of anger and fear.   
  
Thorin rose and went to stand next to his shield-brother. They watched the white body land at the base of the falls, the distance too great to have heard from where they stood. Their breathing was heavy, labored, but with it comes the elation of victory. Thorin felt light, and shocked, and disbelieving. But slowly a grin spread across his face, and the truth of their triumph settled in his bones.  
  
Dwalin grunted, stumbling backwards, and Thorin watched with confusion. Then the warrior began to drop, and Thorin's arms went to catch him, lowering to the ground even as his mind tried to comprehend what was happening.  
  
Blood. So much blood, staining Dwalin's torso, his leathers and mail. Flowing, bright and innocent, like water from his lips. His chest heaved in gasps, grunts of pain cut off before they could fully form. Grey eyes darted to and fro, wildly, aimlessly, before settling on Thorin's face.  
  
"Bastard got me," Dwalin choked, hand moving toward the wound on his chest.  
  
One of Thorin's hands hovered, moving with a mind of its own, uncertain as to where it should have landed.  
  
"Wouldn't be the first time," Thorin says with a half-smile. "Just hold still, Dwalin, we'll get a healer up here."  
  
The hand that rested on Dwalin's chest moved, bloody, to grasp Thorin's own tightly. "Not this time." Dwalin grits.   
  
Thorin frowns. "Dwalin-"  
  
"No. Listen to me, Thorin. Go to Fili, he lives, I saw it. The bastard, Mahal be thanked, missed his heart. Don't-" he grabbed Thorin's hand, where it was trying to halt the flow of lifeblood. "Don't waste your time, Thorin. Go to him."  
  
Thorin looked down. "I cannot leave you." He gritted, feeling the traitorous warmth in his eyes. Dwalin could not leave, _would_ not leave, because he was always there. Would always be there. He clenched his teeth and pressed down. A groan of pain left Dwalin's mouth, the Dwarf's body arching away from the touch. And then his grey eyes moved back to Thorin, surprisingly soft.  
  
"Thorin," he said, gentler than anything Thorin ever heard. "Be a good king. Listen to Balin, since I won't be there to get you out of trouble."  
  
"No-" Thorin choked off, and trembles began to wrack his body.  
  
Dwalin's hand reached up with monumental effort, dragging Thorin's head down and pressing it to his own forehead. "May our next meeting be joyful, but not for many, many years. May Mahal guide you and mithril find you.  
  
"Goodbye, my king."  
  
The hand loosened against Thorin's nape. The chest didn't rise. The eyes stared, blank, above them, as bird-shaped shadows flew over their forms.  
  
Thorin shook. Tears fell. A hand caressed the leather, passed over the beard. A kiss, pressed to the forehead.  
  
The celebrations below halted as a grieved roar echoed down into the valley. The world bowed its head in anguish.

**Author's Note:**

> HEH HEH HEH I'M DEAD INSIDE.
> 
> As a good friend once said, "THIS IS WHY WE CAN'T HAVE NICE THINGS" (it's because I make them into sad things hahahaha).
> 
> Also, 50th work posted! YAY


End file.
